Dances Behind a Red Red Door

Way down this road and round that curve...

in the distance you can see
the soft blue dot
of Bloggingham's half-baked mountain
It took me a while to get there from here.
Along tree-lined two-lane paths
full of the deadness of branches
twigs exposed
shallow
winter's song
winter's scourge
I remember those I knew
and those I never knew
and those I thought I knew

Past the icy bridge I took way too fast...

past the old abandoned mill

where I should be paying attention to the concrete curve and not the golden whirling water

I make my way toward the soft blue dot
and wonder how I got here
how I left here
how I came back here
and why I keep coming back here
why I am
here

past a blue blue sky
full of brittle leaves and fences

and looming barns who watch my comings and goings
on the roads I've made quite nicely my own
I climb through the memory of all my walks toward home
and all my wades through water
and all my dances

behind a red red door


Photography: Mimi Lenox